Revenge
by Ihaveforgotten
Summary: Francis is caught completely off guard when one of his old coll edge friends, and crush, pulls him out of work with a plan for revenge. Will Francis be able to keep up with her plans, or will he abandon her in her time of need? France x Reader
**Hi guys! This is my first fanfiction with France in it. I really hope you guys like it! The inspiration came from a blog that I really like about revenge scenarios. Let's hope it turns out well!**

 **Enjoy~**

* * *

Chapter 1: Checklists and Alleys.

The checklist was perfect. Her eyes scanned the the final product of days of work, inwardly smiling. The cold breeze outside of the café manipulated the paper in her hands, the corner bending under the influence. She shuddered in the winter air, looking up from the paper and to the buzz of the city.

The very heart of Manhattan was as lively as ever. People rudely rushed around, talking loudly on phones, pushing through the masses and dropping trash nonchalantly on the ground. The journalist sat on the bench, nervously clutching the paper in her shaking hands.

One might admire being in one of the largest cities in America at the time, their curious and willing minds aching to explore the depths of the city. Not her. In this moment, she could not appreciate the beauty of Roman ruins or the pink hue of a Japanese garden. She was cold, colder than the air around her in and out. She had been scorned, and although the testament of hatred lay in her hand, in bold, black ink, she could not have been any less sure of what is to come next.

Part of her was determined to do something. Something dark and fulfilling to her blackened heart. She wanted revenge, and the piece of paper in her hands fueled the urge. She wanted him to hurt just as much as she hurt in the past. However, a part of her wanted confirmation in her actions. She had left behind all of her high school friends when she moved from her home to make a life for herself in Manhattan.

She went to a humble college, majoring in journalism. It took her many years to work her way up to being employed in the city's most prestigious newspaper company. She looked fondly upon the accomplishment, but she had no intent of going to work today or the rest of the weekend...never, in fact. It was all part of the plan on her piece of floppy paper. It pained her to do this, but it was well worth it for the feat she had in mind. No, she did not resign or quit, for that would raise suspicion.

She took a deep breath and focused on the plan before her. The first step on the list had not yet been completed and all that stopped her was the nervousness she felt. All she had to do was walk through the door next to her. She knew that she could not do this without him, her most trustworthy friend. She knew his hours perfectly well, for this was her favourite café. She would come here during lunch, drink her usual drink, and work on whatever assignment that she had at the time, making good use of the free wifi.

He was her best friend, who she had met in college. He wanted to major in fashion design, however, his financial tragedy kept him from progressing in his dream. He settles for being a barista today, but he still designs. She used to keep in touch with him all of the time, talking for hours on the phone, meeting him for coffee in a local park, inviting him over for movie night.

But then he came, the man that she fell in love with. The man that she was with for years. Then man that broke her heart after he proposed to her. He was no more to her now than a memory. She spent all of her time with him and slowly began to drift from her friend as they dated. She didn't talk to him, she didn't meet him. The closest that she came to talking to him was giving him a fond smile as she ordered her regular, rarely having to say more than a few words to him. In the business of life, she had forgotten her friend.

She sighed and slowly got up from her spot on the metal bench. She pulled the collar of her coat closer to her face, shielding it from the stinging cold. She needed to woman up and go inside. It's now or never.

Tucking the slip of paper into her jacket pocket, she pushed the door open, hearing the ever so familiar jingle of the bell above the door that indicated the arrival of the next guest. Looking up from the door, she spotted him. Her heart fluttered a bit, from nervousness she assumed, and she gulped.

He was wearing his everyday uniform, a black shirt with the company logo, rusty red jeans, and a simple white apron. He hummed to himself while he worked, his back to her. Today, rather than being left down, his honey coloured hair was pulled back into a low ponytail with a thin blue ribbon, loose strands fell around his face. She had seen this particular hair style a multitude of times and thought it suited him well. His manager, some guy with bushy eyebrows and messy hair, was putting whipped cream on the top of someone's coffee.

Hesitantly, she walked up to the counter, ignoring the two other customers in the café as well as the fact that it was her friend's working hours. She cleared her throat before speaking.

"Excuse me, Francis?"

* * *

Francis had a rather rough day. He awoke in a bad mood due to the construction work outside of his house keeping him awake all night, the sounds of saws, sledgehammers, and the beeping of many trucks were not at all muffled by his walls.

He arrived late to work, having to walk because of his car's flat tire. He scolded himself for running over a nail and made a mental note to get it fixed after work. His manager was rather short with him for being late and made him clean the bathroom. After that was over, he had no shortage of rude customers and he had to take over the position of a coworker who had not shown up today. With double the work and such a bad start to the day, he had a horrid migraine and wished to go home and read a magazine, rather than deal with rude, not beautiful people all day. He even felt bad about his hair, that was a little less perfect than normal, which deeply upset him

Oh well, c'est la vie. He only had an hour until his shift was over. He planned on going to a bakery this evening and grabbing some bread for his dinner tonight. Then, he was going to watch another episode of Miraculous Ladybug, a show that he had been watching for a while now. That in itself was enough for him to look forward to the end of his shift.

Humming as he cleaned one of the espresso machines, he heard the bell above the entrance jingle. Arthur, his manager, mumbled something like "here comes another one" to himself. He began to finish up the espresso machine, assuming that Arthur would take over the customer that just walked in, when her heard a strikingly familiar voice.

"Excuse me, Francis?".

He turned around to confirm that it was who he thought it was. His heart dropped to his stomach when he saw her standing at the counter. His face flushed and his mouth felt dry. He smiled, hoping to conceal this.

"Why, bonjour (Y/N), would you like your usual today?" he quickly glanced at his wristwatch, "It's a bit after your typical lunchtime, could I interest you in a pastry from the deli? Everything is half off after lunchtime." he added politely, trying to focus on slowing his rapidly beating heart.

She shook her head and he noticed that she did not look her typical self. He had not seen her in a week, and he had assumed that she was taking vacation time off or was sent off for a work assignment, like she has been in the past.

"I don't want anything today, but I was wondering if I could speak to you alone?" her eyes pierced him with such intensity that he froze for a moment.

"Um, un moment, sil vous plait?" he asked, and left his spot at the register. He strode over to his manager who, had put a completed order at the pickup counter and smacked a bell.

"Arthur? Can I speak to you for a moment? About a customer request?" Francis asked, adjusting his ponytail. His blonde manager turned his gaze to the barista raising his eyebrow. Francis seemed serious right now, which is not the norm from what Arthur saw on a daily basis.

"Yes, what is it? Anything you need to ask can be said right here, am I correct?" the manager said, his English accent thick on his voice along with a slight edge of annoyance. Francis smiled, trying to help his case a bit more.

"The customer is requesting to speak with me alone. She is a dear friend of mine and I'm sure it's an emergency." he explained, hoping that the brit would agree. Arthur merely shook his head, after about thirty seconds of thought.

"Alright. No more than ten minutes, or I'll have to pull Feliciano from pastry duty to cover up for you." the blonde agreed. The barista strode around the counter and to the girl. She stood expectantly and with a firm, businesslike aura, but still, there was something missing from her everyday way. Her eyes held a glimmer that reminded him of her old self before days filled with deadlines.

"What is troubling you so, mon ami? Tell me you are okay?" Francis asked, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips, his typical greeting for any lady. She sighed, allowing him to get on with his greeting. Most girls would coo and swoon over such an action, a handful would jerk their hands away. Not her. She handled the situation with an air of nonchalant boredom. She always brushed off his flirts as no more than commonplace banter.

"I'm fine, but I need to ask you for help." she said, casting her eyes downwards towards a place mat on the floor, she traced the company logo with her foot. He could sense the uneasiness coming from her. He tried to smile in a friendly way to ease her nervousness, but with her, he was never sure if his efforts had an effect.

It drove him crazy. With every other girl, he had no problem reading their giggles and expressions. The other girls' mannerisms said it all, and he found that seeing through them was as easy as reading a juicy tabloid. But, despite his gift, he could never tell exactly what (Y/N) was thinking. He could guess about it, but often found himself wrong. To him, she was always an unpredictable mystery, an ever changing puzzle. A puzzle he sought to solve many times, though she never gave him the chance to put all of the pieces together before she changed it all up.

"You know I'd do anything for such a gorgeous girl like you, especially my friend." Francis reassured. He only gained a small, bitter grin from her. Not quite the response he had hoped for.

"Okay. In that case, we need to find somewhere more quiet before I start to explain." she said, her voice low, her bright eyes glanced around for any eavesdropping customers. Francis nodded, his blue eyes found that of his manager, as if silently asking for permission. The manager only glanced back, enough indication for the two to leave without interruption.

"I understand, follow me." he whispered. He grabbed her wrist and led her outside of the café, the bell above the door tinkled melodically on their exit. The cold air clung to his face and hands and his mind began to race with scenarios. What if she said she could never see him again? What if she was moving away? What if someone has really hurt her? What if she came to tell him that his fashion was awful? His thoughts came to a halt when he realized that the last scenario was impossible.

If Francis had a handkerchief, he would be chewing it to pieces, a trademark habit of stress for the Frenchman.

He led his friend with care, wary of criminals, robbers, or any other distasteful people, into the alley beside the café. The alley was dark and wet, damp from a storm the day prior, and featured a dumpster and two back door stoops from both the café and the flower shop next to it. Overall, despite its shabby appearance, it was a quiet and safe place to talk with a friend.

He stopped at the back door stoop, a couple of feet from the concrete steps. He turned to face his old friend, hoping his worry did not show on his face. He let his grip slip from her wrist to her hand, cupping her petite hand in both of his. He took a deep breath.

"Now, explain to me what is bothering you, mon soeur. What can I do for you?" he pleaded, his concern shown in his voice. For the first time in years, she choose not to look at something distracting, like a phone, book, or piece of paper. She looked directly into his eyes with nothing but determination, and it was terrifying.

"Francis. I hate to ask this of you, but I need for you to help me vanish." she spoke, her voice shook a tiny bit, but the impact was no less. He was taken aback.

"Why, what on earth do you mean?" he asked, squeezing her hand slightly. Her gaze didn't waver a bit. Her next words held no shakiness, no nervousness. It was as if she had rehearsed the words.

"I need for you to aid in my murder."

* * *

 **Are you guys liking it so far? Please keep in mind that if you have any suggestions or critiques that can help me out, don't hesitate to tell me. If you find any errors in grammar, I'm so sorry. I should be able to post the next chapter in a week or so, if any of you would like to continue. In the meantime, love and peace, friends! ^-^**

 **Thank you!**

 **(P.S. I don't know French very well, so if you see a translation error, please tell me. I love criticism)**


End file.
